About a week or so before the U.S. entered Iraq in 2003, I heard a radio interview between a journalist and an actor in Baghdad. He was rehearsing for a play that was scheduled to open sometime in late March. The journalist asked something to the effect of, “Aren’t you wasting your time?” The actor indicated that no, the endeavor to perform the show was not a waste of time. They intended to put the play on as scheduled. He talked about the craft of acting, the magic of the theater. He sounded so strong and committed.
I wonder if he’s still alive? What has happened to him and his fellow actors in the five years since then?
Yesterday when I was walking from Palisades Park to Amalfi Drive to Sunset Blvd., to San Vincente Blvd., I passed by hundreds, if not thousands, of amazingly beautiful flowers. I wondered if my “Women for Women sister” in D.R. Congo ever gets to see flowers. I thought about how people here can garden without worrying about getting shot at.
I can’t imagine having to walk 17 miles without my medically researched shoes and scientifically formulated sports drinks and Gu packs and table salt. Add to that the fact that I got to do the walk in complete safety, utterly positive that no one with machetes was after me or anyone I know.
I was so safe that I could take time to enjoy the seeing the colors of the flowers. And not only were the flowers there — thriving because we have the luxury to grow them and the extra water to feed them — but my mind was free from fear and comfortable enough to appreciate them.
I just don’t know what to do with all of this good fortune. It makes me cry sometimes.